


First Meeting

by TheLSpacer



Series: The Citadel String Ensemble [3]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Gen, Music Store, human!arum, sorry scalies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:37:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLSpacer/pseuds/TheLSpacer
Summary: Rilla is a simple music store owner, with simple, music store problems. Why is talking to people so hard? Why is her throat so dry? Why won't the universe let her close her shop a little earlier than usual? And what's up with the weird pianist with the violet eyes?





	First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> I'm too late and I missed Lizard Kissin' Tuesday dammit (Ok since Arum isn't a lizard in this fic technically it doesn't count?) Anyways I hope y'all accept this offering nonetheless.

It was, all things considered, a pretty slow day. Rilla rang up a mother buying violin strings and one of those Suzuki beginner books, while her kid, a boy who looked five-ish at most, peeked curiously over the counter at the small bowl of lollipops Rilla kept next to the cheery cream coloured business cards. 

“Would you like one?” She smiled and waggled a cola-flavoured one between two fingers. 

The boy wordlessly reached a hand toward the proffered lollipop, but was stopped as his mother nudged him gently. “Now what do we say to the nice lady,” she prompted. 

As the boy thanked her meekly and made his way to the door, Rilla turned back to the lady, and gestured to the items she was bagging. “Starting him early?”

“Heh, yeah. Just watched that movie with Itzhak Perlman on the violin-“

“-lemme guess. Was it Schindler’s List?” 

“Saints, how did you guess?” The mother grinned. “Anyways, I just _knew_ then that we had to have a violinist in the family, and me and the wife are absolutely tone deaf, so… here we are!” 

“Well, I wish you and your son the best of luck.” Rilla handed over the paper bag with the name of her music shop stamped on its front. “Violin isn’t an easy instrument to pick up, but if he’s passionate about it, I’m sure he’ll be great!” She waved the mother and son goodbye, hearing the wind chimes hanging on the door handle sound they made their way out. 

She heaved a sigh of relief as the door swung closed, and slumped into a chair she kept handy nearby, utterly spent. Sure, she loved music, and she loved sharing her (extensive) knowledge of music with others. It’s why she opened a music store, after all. But interacting with people was just. So. Tiring. Explaining the difference between brands of violin strings and recommending practice books to young musicians (and in this case, their mothers), was all well and good in theory, but in practice, well, she would fine herself would leave her drained, and, as she mentally assessed her fatigue and dry throat, in sore need of a drink. 

She raised her eyes to the wall clock. 6.19 pm. _Thank the Saints I’m just 10 minutes away from closing up_. She considered the merits of closing a little earlier than usual so she could head out for a smoothie, then making her way home to practice the pieces for this Friday’s chamber rehearsal, or maybe going over to Damien’s for an impromptu movie night, or practicing at Damien’s and _then_ flicking through Netflix together for an hour until one of them fell asleep, or…

She heard the telltale chime that accompanied her shop door opening. 

Dammit. 

She stayed in her chair as her (hopefully) final customer of the day walked in. What? She was the owner and sole employee of this place. It wasn’t like she could fire herself for lazing on the job. Instead, she kept an eye on the slowly ticking clock, while watching the customer stroll around the store. After all, she had shoplifters to be wary of, or even worse, one of the members of Helicoid’s talentless choir who would come to heckle her from time to time She assessed him intently as he turned his back. 

If Rilla was guilty of one thing, it was curiosity. Every time a new customer walked in, she would try to deduce their personalities, whether they played music or were simply curious passers-by, what they came in for, Sherlock Holmes style. It definitely beat having to approach them with the customary ‘are you looking for anything’s or ‘can I help you’s. 

In this stranger’s case, she guessed he was around her age or slightly older, probably mid-20s or early 30s. He was tall, with a wiry frame and long legs encased in black pants, the black pants hinting that he either had some fancy job that required him to dress up, or that he was a nerd with an archaic sense of style. 

She personally favoured the latter theory. 

While he was clad in shirtsleeves, the skin exposed was olive brown. She couldn’t get a clear view of his face, but his black hair was tied in a ponytail that brushed his upper back. He seemed to move with purpose, mostly favouring the shelves laden with piano books. He reached a hand out to grab a book, she noticed his fingers were long and bony. Yup, definitely a pianist. As he cracked open the book, a pretty formidable tome of jazz standards, he lowered his head, and Rilla caught a brief flash as the last of the afternoon’s sunlight reflected off something Mysterious Piano Man (the nickname she had quickly taken to calling him) was wearing. She narrowed her eyes, and true enough, he was wearing earrings! Or more specifically, a couple ear cuffs on each ear. Huh. Maybe his fashion sense wasn’t as abysmal as she thought it was. 

As if he could hear her thoughts, MPM snapped the book shut and returned it to its place on the shelf, his earrings glinting again as he shifted his head back and forth to examine the book spines. 

She was beginning to get antsy. Sure, people-watching was fun enough, but a couple minutes had passed, and MPM’s weird charm was wearing off about as quickly as the minute hand on the wall clock crawled slowly but surely to closing time, MPM showed no signs of having made a decision. In fact, he seemed more than content to browse the contents of her shelf for the rest of the evening, and _is he looking at the keyboards now??_

He had strode away from the bookshelves to the alcove where the electric keyboards were put on display, looking them over one by one, his piano fingers trailing absentmindedly over silent keys and volume dials. _Why do I keep staring at his hands?_ Rilla couldn’t help the impatient scowl that crossed her face as yet another pointless, agonising minute ticked by. All of a sudden, MPM’s head jerked up, as if he had finally, _finally_ decided to leave. She tapped her foot in anticipation as he began walking with purpose….

…to the keyboard across from him. 

He pulled the piano bench out from where it was tucked underneath the keyboard. _No._

His hand travelled across the buttons and dials, before finding the power switch. _NO._

He adjusted the keyboard’s settings and positioned his hands above the keys.

He-

“-excuse me, are you looking for something?” 

Mysterious Piano Man swivelled around to look at her, and for the first time, she got a full view of his face. 

On their own, his features looked fine enough; a long, angular face, high cheekbones, a strong brow, a pointed chin and a broad fleshy nose that sat low, close to thin lips, currently pulled down in a frown. All put together, however, and the effect made him by no means handsome. It was, however, his eyes that had captured her attention the most. 

They were violet. 

He had to be wearing contacts, right? But even if he were, who in their right mind would choose _purple_? So that was it then. An eccentric pianist with so-so dress sense and absolutely no respect for business hours was terrorising her. Fine. She had dealt with weird before. The other players in the CSE came in to terrorise her all the time. 

But if disdain and a detached curiosity were all she felt toward him, why couldn’t she stop looking at his face (which was beginning to shift from _weird looking_ to _weirdly alluring_ ), and why couldn’t she stop looking into his violet eyes? 

Eyes that were currently narrowed in annoyance. 

Shit. She was staring. 

Clearing her throat awkwardly, she quickly broke eye contact. “Sorry. Spaced out there for a bit!” She flashed him her characteristic charming-shop-employee grin, and hoped that it compensated for the fact that she had been staring at his face, _in the no-no triangle, no less, Saints Rilla, get it together_ , for what felt like 5 full minutes. 

“Yes, I can see that.” And he could speak! She placed him somewhere between tenor and baritone in range, but the rasp in his voice as he spoke banished any possibility of him being a singer, let alone a choir member. She allowed herself a mental sigh of relief. None of Hellicoid’s brats allowed in _her_ store! She should probably put up signs. 

“You’re…doing it again.” Wait, what? His brusque tone quickly brought her out of her internal monologue. Saints, she was more tired than she realised. 

Apologising sheepishly once again, she prepared herself to ask the dread question. “Is there anything I can help you with?” 

“Not at the moment. I was just about to try out this keyboard, before you _interrupted_ me,” he snapped in response, turning back toward the instrument, away from her livid eyes. 

“Well _excuse_ me.” If Rilla hated anything more than Helicoid’s show choir, it was rude customers, and she felt every polite filter she had put in prior to the conversation slipping away. “If you wanted to spend an hour playing ‘fur elise’ on 10 different keyboards, maybe you should’ve come, _oh-I-don’t-know_ , earlier than 10 minutes before our closing time?!”

His eyes darkened. “For the record, there’s still five minutes to go before you close, and that’s more than enough time for a piece.” He slammed down ‘THE NEW BROADWAY FAKE BOOK! Over 500 SONGS!!’ onto the flimsy piano stand, and if Rilla weren’t in such a bad mood, she would have laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of his display.

“Now if _you_ excuse me, I’ve got pieces to play.” 

How dare he dismiss her like that? As if she were some- some _servant_ at his beck and call?! 

She seethed as she returned to the chair behind the counter. She seethed as he adjusted the volume of the keyboard to his satisfaction. She seethed as he played the intro to ‘All That Jazz’, and while she was dying to throttle his skinny neck, she had to admit that he was a decent player. While his eyes were glued to the sheet music in front of him, his deft fingers danced across the keys, and he seemed to know the placement of every note and chord, as he never once glanced down to look at his hands. His touch and tone were near-perfect, and he was able to replicate the dynamics on the page exactly. She had to admit, she was impressed. 

However, as he kept playing, Rilla felt something… off. To the untrained ear, there would’ve been nothing wrong with the way the Mystery Pianist played. His skills with sight reading were admirable, and his playing technically brilliant, but to a musician such as herself, she could tell that the music produced from his hands just had no _soul_. The enthusiasm with which he played the opening song of Chicago was purely manufactured, and he seemed to be playing simply to get the piece done and over with. As expertly as he played, Rilla could tell when someone was ploughing through a piece, as the minutes to closing ticked by unnoticed. A minute before 6.30, she inwardly winced as he ended the song with a dead flourish. 

The pianist nodded to himself, before switching off the keyboard, shifting the stool back into its original position, and grabbing the book from its stand, marching toward the counter. 

Rilla hastily stood, and rang his purchase up, all while resolutely avoiding eye contact with him. She was beginning to regret yelling at him. After all, he didn’t take as long as she thought he would to decide on a purchase, and it was still a minute before closing. Rude as he was, she would hate to lose another potential returning customer. The arts in the Citadel was a dying industry as it was. 

As she opened out a paper bag, she ventured a meek “listen… I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s been a long day, and I really did think you were gonna keep me long after closing, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” 

Mystery Robot Pianist (she really needed his actual name or something) sighed. “It’s fine. I’m…” he seemed to struggle for a bit “…sorry about my rudeness too.” 

The most awkward apology in all of history done and over with, Rilla attempted to clear the air. “Sooo… this for fun?” She gestured at ‘THE NEW BROADWAY FAKE BOOK! Over 500 SONGS!!’

He scoffed, eyes rolling upward in derision. “Ugh. Please. As if I would play that sort of music for fun.” A music snob then. Maybe they _could_ get along after all. “This is for auditions.” 

“Oh! You the one auditioning, or..” 

“ _I’m_ the one doing the auditioning. Some show choir that just hired me as pianist. Are you familiar with the Helicoid Community Choir?” 

Oh hell no.

Rilla shoved the book into the paper bag, and pushed the bag into the pianist’s arms. “Nope! Never heard of it,” she answered with false cheer. “Alright thankyoubyehaveagoodevening,” she squeaked through her teeth as she lead him hastily toward the door. 

When his hand touched the door handle, he turned around once again to face her. “Wait. Before you close up, do you have a business card, anything? I saw some interesting titles on your shelves that I may want to look into…” 

Before he could finish, Rilla ran to the counter, snatched up a cream card from the pile next to the lollipop bowl, sprinted back, and slapped it into his outstretched hand. “If you need anything, just ask for Rilla.”

“Not-“ 

“-not Amaryllis! Ignore the name on the business card! Now uh… may I have your name?” 

“You can’t _have _it, but you _can _know it.” As if his memory had suddenly been jogged, he put down the paper bag, and reached out his free hand toward her. “It’s Arum.”____

____Arum. She took the proffered palm, and felt long, ice-cool fingers encase her hand. She gave one quick shake, and then opened the door from behind him._ _ _ _

____“Pleased to meet you, Arum. Now I really need to close up so..”_ _ _ _

____“Ah, yes. My apologies. I’ll just… make my way out then!” The Mysterious Pianist - Arum - beat a hasty retreat, and Rilla let the door swing closed as she watched his retreating back._ _ _ _

_____Shit, he forgot his book!_ _ _ _ _

____She grabbed the paper bag up from where he had set it down, and flung the door open, looking left and right for Arum’s telltale long, lanky frame, but he had disappeared into the evening crowd._ _ _ _

____Well, she supposed this wouldn’t be the last time she was seeing him. Arum and his robotic playing and his traitorous ties to the HCC and his joking about the fae and his strange, violet eyes. Was it weird that a small part of her felt _happy_ at the thought?_ _ _ _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading aaaaaaaaaaaaaa


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